Page 161 of Nine Months to Love

And this is the cost.

This.A kind old woman who’s only ever been sweet to me, lying in a hospital bed with bullet holes in her chest, talking about dancing at our wedding as if her blood didn’t soak into the manor’s floors three days ago.

I need to fix this. I need to find a way to end the violence before someone else bleeds out. Before someone else dies.

Before Elena takes another bullet.

Before Stefan or Taras or even bright-eyed Arielle become collateral damage in a war I helped escalate.

They were never meant to hurt anyone.That’s what Natalia said in her note.

Maybe she’s telling the truth. Maybe she really didn’t want Elena shot. Maybe the attack spiraled beyond her control and she’s drowning in regret just like I am.

Or maybe not.

But either way, what does it change?

If I meet with her, I can make her stop. I’ll talk to her until she agrees to let us build our life without her shadow poisoning everything we touch.

Or maybe not. What if Stefan’s right and I’m the most naive fool who ever lived? If she is exactly the monster Stefan says she is, then couldn’t this all go terribly wrong?

But I won’t know unless I try.

And God help me, I have to try.

“Olivia?”

I blink. Stefan is watching me with concern. “Sorry. What?”

“I asked if you’re okay. You zoned out.”

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

Elena narrows her eyes. “You should go home and rest. Both of you.”

“We’re not leaving you alone,” Stefan argues immediately.

“I’m not alone. I have nurses checking on me every five minutes. And guards outside my door. I’ll be fine.”

“Babushka—”

“Go. Spend some time at the manor. Take a shower. Sleep in a real bed. You’ve both been here long enough.”

“I want to stay,” I insist.

“And I want some privacy. An old woman needs time to think without you two hovering over her like anxious mother hens.”

Stefan and I exchange a look. “She’s right,” I admit. “We could use a break.”

“See? Olivia understands.”

He sighs. “Fine. But we’re coming back later.”

“Not today you’re not. Come back tomorrow.”

“Babushka—”

“Tomorrow, Stefan. That’s an order.”